


Bedtime Stories

by Rubynye



Category: Original Work, Tangled (2010)
Genre: A compendium of unholinesses, Anal Sex, Bestiality, Child Abuse, Cocksleeve, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in Two Holes, F/F, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Gangbang, Incest, Large Cock, Large Insertion, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Parent/Child Incest, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spit As Lube, Throat Bulge, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, all the way through, deep penetration, flock of dead doves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: Mother Gothel tells Rapunzel four bedtime stories.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dresca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dresca/gifts).



> Written for the 2018 Smut Swap.  
> PS HEED THE WARNINGS.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Male Orcs/Female Pixie

“My Rapunzel,” said her Mother, as she set a candle on the nightstand, “Why have you come to my bedroom tonight?” 

_Because you told me to,_ Rapunzel didn’t say. She yawned and said, “Mother, I’m so tired—“

“Because you don’t listen to me anymore,” Mother Gothel answered herself, pulling her dress over her head to drape it on her sitting-chair. “Take off your clothes, my child.”

Rapunzel didn’t sigh. She didn’t turn and run back to her room, as a leaden lump sank in her belly, as sparks of excitement rose all unwanted in her blood. She did as she was told and removed her dress. Unlike her Mother, whose lush breasts were supported with a crisscrossed garment, her sex hidden inside legless shorts, Rapunzel wore only a shift beneath her dress, and at Mother’s imperious nod she pulled it off too, laid it down and sat on Mother’s bed.

“Wind your hair through the ring, we must protect it,” she was told as Mother unfastened her breast-support and pulled off her under-shorts. Rapunzel arranged her hair, leaving enough slack that shifting around wouldn’t pull on it, but as Mother lay down beside Rapunzel she reached up, her arm long and strong, and jerked Rapunzel’s hair taut so it bound her to the bed.

“There,” Mother said, stretching out the word, drawing the edges of her fingernails down the side of Rapunzel’s face, a fine hot line along her throat and between her breasts, sending shudders through her chest, hitching through her breaths. “Now, you’re here because you’ve stopped listening again.” Rapunzel trembled, between Mother’s stroking and her scolding. “What did I hear you say just today?”

Rapunzel looked up at Mother, who always made her say what she wanted to hear, one way or another, and sighed into the pushing hand, and tried to explain, “But I just thought it would be nice to fly.”

Mother’s response was pursing her lips into a shadow-deepened frown, sharply tweaking Rapunzel’s nipple so she squeaked. “You don’t want to be a pixie,” she told Rapunzel, who really rather did, at least sometimes. “Tiny and vulnerable, out in the wide dangerous world? No, no buts,” she continued, over Rapunzel’s indrawn breath. “Or ands or ifs. Put your arms around your Mother and I’ll tell you a tale of why you wouldn’t, not at all.”

Mother’s hand rested on the curve of Rapunzel’s belly, just above the squirming inside it. She tucked her arms around Mother’s warm body, above and below the dip of her soft waist, and as Mother slid her far hand’s fingers up and down in Rapunzel’s trapped hair, she began the story.

Stostoryry 

“Quiet,” hissed Grushr, “‘fore you scare ‘em off, and ready that net.”

Mehl shrugged, quietly, as he unraveled the birdcatcher net. He wasn’t really sure about Grushr’s pixie-catching plan, considering what bony little things they were, but Grushr said they were grand rutting, and Mehl’d plunge his prick into anything at least once. Right now, Grushr had them tucked into a covering bush, downwind from a clutch of sunbathing pixies on a broad rock, a multihued assortment of little lounging beauties like winged flowers. The net flowed freely between Mehl’s fingers, and he took special care for it not to catch on his rusty-flaky greaves as he planned his throw and wondered if all the pixies might fit in the cage Grushr held.

And then the one in warm purple sat up, her tiny nose twitching, and the one in grass green turned to regard her, a current of awareness spreading like flame in oil through all the pixies. As the first few fluttered up, Meal threw the net over his covering bush, a hunter’s desperate try.

He triumphed. Two pixies fell with the net, piping shrill alarm as Grushr crashed through the bush to reach them, as the rest shot up like startled birds. The grass-green pixie tugged up the net’s edge and freed her purple-dressed friend, and they both reached for the more entangled one in fluttering lilac —

Mehl got there first, grabbing the net. Grushr got there first, clamping his hands over the lilac pixie. The other two fled in a rush of shrieks and wings as Mehl cheered, “We’ve caught one!” 

“I’d hoped for two or more,” Grushr said, “but still, she’ll last through both of us, most like. Quick, get the cage before they fetch back a pestilent cloud of reinforcements.” A moment to stow their prize and their net, and Mehl took off jogging, Grushr just behind. It rankled to be patient, but Grushr hadn’t lasted these many years by being stupid, and Mehl was by his side to learn. So they ran off with the pixie for a safer retreat.

An hour’s jog took them from the searingly sunny woods to a restfully dank and boggy hollow, the air full of rot and mud, the light dim and green. There Grushr pulled the pixie from the cage, laughing as she tried to sink her minuscule teeth into his barked skin. “Look at that,” he said, and Mehl looked, at the rounded tiny bint in her ruffled lilac dress, her hair a pink dishevelment, her skin sun-yellow. She scowled back at him, her head and arms above Grushr’s hand, her legs kicking below. “Now watch carefully, my lad,” Grushr added, unfastening his breech. The pixie tossed her head, loosing a long shrill shriek. “I’d bet my second sword you’re thinking how’ll I fit this.”

“I’m thinking I’d like to see it, yes,” Mehl said, as he unfastened his own breech. He always liked the sight of his longer prick alongside Grushr’s wider, not least when they sank them together into the same weeping, struggling prize. But he still had no idea how Grushr could fit even a littlest finger into this little thing.

“Pixies are special, my lad,” Grushr explained as he expertly pulled the pixie’s dress away all without letting her loose. Her round breasts bounced like golden berries as she struggled and screamed piping-high. “Their magic takes them through many scrapes, including being stuffed full of full-size pricks. It’s like wearing the tightest quivering sleeve. And look how she claims to hate this but give her a taste of spend and she’ll be drunker than a mercenary halfway through his pay.” He brought the pixie up as he spoke, kissing her mockingly on the side of her face, his mouth easily large enough to engulf her head, and Mehl grinned and started stroking himself. His rough palm was his first friend, but this was a new pleasure.

The pixie slapped at Grushr’s mouth, making them both laugh as he swung her down to his waiting prick, pinching her ankle between his other thumb and forefinger to pull her leg aside. She fluttered wildly, arms and leg and tossing head and one free wing, her round coral pucker of a mouth falling open as Grushr pressed to her, flaring impossibly wide as he began to push within her.

As he did, groaning quietly, he peeled his fingers away one by one, letting Mehl see the bulge of his prick invading the tiny cunt, up and in and up, her belly swelling as he spitted her on his prick. Up and further up and he switched to pinching both thighs, growling louder as he worked the pixie down in a series of short shoves, her limbs tossing crazily and her squeaks rising ever higher as her body swelled with the prick sinking up all the way into her.

With a final huff Grushr shoved her down to the hilt, his crusty crotch-fur sticking up all round her jiggling thighs and belly, her head tipped back on her bulging neck as it seemed Mehl might see Grushr’s cockhead emerge from her gaping mouth. 

“Now look at that,” Grushr puffed proudly. “Try her feel, all tight all around me!” She did feel astounding under Mehl’s fingertips, a fine tremble of flesh stretched around Grushr’s prick. Mehl flicked her breasts like nipples and she choked up a strangled, reedy scream, overlapping with Grushr’s pleased grunt. Settling his feet wider, Grushr gripped her again, her sunshiny flesh glowing between his gnarled gray fingers as he squeezed and stroked, rubbing his prick with her body. Mehl stroked himself in turn, watching raptly as the pixie slid roughly up and down, her throat narrowing and bulging as Grushr emptied and filled her over and over, her arms and legs churning the air. 

Mehl groaned, already near spending, and Grushr said breathlessly, “Come here with that. Aim for our little friend’s face, there, just so!” The pixie shut her long-lashed eyes tight, coral-berry mouth fluttering with Grushr’s thrusts, and Mehl aimed and throbbed and pulsed, spilling all over her face, her open mouth, into her rucked-up hair and down over Grushr’s fingers.

Grushr growled deep satisfaction, and Mehl could see the change come over the pixie as she choked and swallowed, as her limbs fell and her wings wilted, as she relaxed around Grushr’s prick, eyes rolling beneath their lids. Grushr shouted with his peak, hand stilling as his prick jerked and the pixie’s whole body jerked with it, limbs swinging. Laughing, he peeled his hand away from her and Mehl watched her dangling limbs and head tossing with Grushr’s pulses, and, he realized, her own spasms. 

“The little thing’s peaking,” Mehl observed, gripping his prick anew, already warming towards another for himself. Grushr nodded, still laughing, scraped up a blob of seed and smeared it over the pixie’s swollen lips, and Mehl watched her little tongue loll out, scooping it into her mouth. “Really’s drunk.”

“Let’s give her another serving,” Grushr clutched her again, her head falling sideways, her hair stuck to his belly, strange pink against his everyday gray. “Ah, that’s good,” Grushr added, speeding his hand till the pixie blurred. “Nice and slick.” He chafed his second up all workmanlike, but Mehl was distracted by watching the pixie bouncing limply yet vibrantly as Grushr rubbed himself with her, how her arms and legs and wings and lolling head all flopped about, how her breasts flattened between Grushr’s fingers, how she indeed slid more easily, hot white froth bubbling out all round the base of Grushr’s prick and besmearing her belly and thighs. 

Grushr peaked again with a satisfied little bellow, shifted his grip, and dragged the pixie off his prick with a slick sucking noise. “Here.” He handed her over to Mehl, who might have looked her over but that he needed the feel more. How she felt, skin fine-grained and tacky-damp, form tiny and trembling in the curl of his fingers; Mehl pulled her leg wide and pushed her down facing him, watching his own prick fill and inflate her as it slid into the slick sheath of her body, feeling her head fall back against his top finger and her wide-flung legs pressing to his belly. 

He tried to go slowly just to watch, but the feel of her! What her thin body lacked in pillowy support as he’d get by lying upon a victim his size, he gained in the stimulating little pokes of her bones as his prick pushed between them, the swells of her lungs and flutters of her heart as he pressed up behind them, the way every cough and moan vibrated so finely around him. He watched her throat fill, ballooning out with his prickhead, and felt himself surge into overflow, each spurt sliding backwards down around his prick and gurgling out of her all around its base.

A tight narrow band crimped and flared around his prick’s base, and he looked down, Grushr’s chuckles low and warm in his ears, to see the impossibly stretched pinkness of her nether lips like a thick string tied tight, the minuscule red knot pricked up in front. He reached down and flicked it, and she clenched and screamed, shoulders and thighs shaking, so he kept at it, flick clench flick, until he peaked again without even a thrust, just from the rhythmic squeezing of her tortured peaking.

“Ah, could we keep her?” Mehl puffed, and Grushr laughed and patted his shoulder.

“They’d come to get her,” he explained, “and then we’d have a mess of trouble. Finish up now, my lad, and let’s leave her for her kin to gather up.”

So Mehl wrapped his fist around her again, hunching his hips into his strokes, and she coughed up sweetly painful choked noises, again and again until one more peak pulled itself through his blood and bones and up out of his prick. Then he pulled her off as Grushr had and dropped her upon a nearby rock.

She lay sprawled atop her crumpled wings, chest heaving, body shivering, little breasts quaking, her thighs flung impossibly wide, her cunt gaping a fingersbreaadth as long white drips oozed from its red-dark cavern. “We’ve done her in,” Mehl said, observing how thoroughly they’d fucked her.

“Aye, and tuck your prick in,” Grushr said, already done up. Mehl put himself away, bounced on his heels to settle his bones, and started to turn towards their path, till Grushr’s booming laugh called him to one more bit of fun.

A rat, bushy brown and longer than the pixie’s height, had climbed the rock to nose her unlocked cunt, and as the orc lads watched It crawled further, hunching its hindquarters up between her splayed thighs with an audible smack, lapping stuck-on seed from her side-turned face as it began rutting her. She lay senseless, limbs twitching, body shaking with the rat’s thrusts, and Mehl laughed too, storing the image in memory before turning away to resume their journey, warmed and loose-jointed from a grand rutting indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ancient War Hero/Little Girl Who Summoned Him to Save Her People

“The poor pixie,” Rapunzel gasped, her voice shuddering with the rocking of Mother’s hand, two fingers within her as she clung to Mother’s waist, her nipple all a-tingle pressed Mother’s fuller, softer breast. “The poor thing, did she ever, did she get home?”

“How are you still talking?” Mother asked, smiling amusement, driving her fingers faster so Rapunzel’s back arched with the force of it, plunging in and out of her like the orc’s cocks in the story. “Come on, pop off for me and I’ll tell you. I want to see you at your pleasure.”

Rapunzel’s mind churned with fire, sparks rising as Mother diddled her, and she clutched tight and breathed out a shout and felt herself pulsing, fluttering tight, filled and held by her Mother, who chortled a little and rested approving lips on her forehead. “Oh,” Rapunzel gasped, turning her face in along Mother’s shoulder till she pulled at her hair, needing to be held after such a shuddering. “Oh, please, please.”

“Shh, shh, there, good.” Mother petted her hair, shushing her, holding her till she shook to a stop. Until her mind whirled back into place and Rapunzel could remember what she wanted to say.

She tipped her face back from Mother’s soft skin and said, “What if the pixies had guards?” Mother huffed, her stroking hands turning hard, but Rapunzel went on. “Full size guards, to keep the orcs off?”

“Really, Rapunzel.” Mother curled her hand around Rapunzel’s little breast as she spoke, and Rapunzel tensed against a pinched nipple, but Mother just kept talking. “And what price do you think they’d ask for their help?”

“Gratitude?” Rapunzel offered. “Pie?”

Mother cackled, and Rapunzel shivered, the squirm back in her belly. “You’re so naive,” she told Rapunzel. “Let me tell you another story.”

Stostoryry 

Taeris stepped back to the attic wall to survey her preparations once more. The chalk septacle gleamed in the moonlight, and she could find no gaps or crooked lines. The dish sat in the middle, bearing bread and salt and meat and water, if not much of any, but she’d saved from her suppers for three days running for this. Behind her, her offerings lay wrapped in a dark sheet, so she could present them at the proper moment.

Now, all she needed was for midnight to come.

It seemed just the next moment that red light flared across her eyelids, and she blinked awake and looked up from where she sat against the wall, up and up at the tall burly man in the center of her septacle and his fiery red beard bristling around his chin as he tipped the dish up to his wide mouth, all its contents sliding in at once. He caught the water cup, upended it into his mouth as well, and flung both dish and cup against the far wall with a crash. She flinched, and he looked at her.

He was so tall, so broad, so big, all scarred muscle. Red hairs glowed all over his naked body, copper against the silver moonlight. He grinned and his teeth gleamed, a gap in the front. He looked just like the tapestries but that he was so naked.

“My lord,” Taeris gasped, scrambling to her feet. “General-King Neidar.”

“Girl,” he boomed, and his voice seemingly shook the walls. “Why have you disturbed my slumber?” 

“Our city, your city, is in desperate danger. Tathacivita and Puldancivita have laid siege to us, and they’re close to breaking through the walls. The walls you built,” she added, to make the point.

“Why?” asked General Neidar, fists on hips, and she carefully averted her maiden eyes from the thick member between his thighs.

Instead she swallowed and said, “I’m not sure, it’s politics, but I do know we’re all in desperate danger. So I’ve called you here to ask your aid.”

Neidar took a broad-chested breath, thinking on her words. Then he laughed, loud and full. “And what concern is this of mine?”

That question Taeris had not expected. It took her a moment, staring up at him as he raised a bushy eyebrow, and another, before she could even gasp out, “But your city, it’s stood a thousand years since you built it. You can’t let it fall now.”

“If my descendants have grown too weak to maintain what I built, why should I not? I already gave one life to this city.”

“Great sir, please!” Taeris heard her voice wobble, and pushed back at the cry gathering. She couldn’t weep before a legendary general. “Please. I have brought offerings.” She ran back to gather them up, hard and awkward in her arms, laid them down and pulled the cloth aside to show the gleaming metal. “Swords, my father’s and my eldest brother’s. I would have brought armor, too, but I thought…”

“My armor is dust in my grave.” Neidar stepped closer, looking over the swords as Taeris straightened them out side by side. “Your menfolk need them no more,” he said, not a question, and she nodded, her throat too tight to speak. A battle before the walls took Aelin. Grief and a festering wound took Father, and their mother’s walked grey and bent through all her days since. 

But Taeris had called up this help to save Mother, to save them all. She looked up at General Neidar, and found him smiling. 

Then she squeaked as he stepped right over her carefully drawn circles and scrambled back as he filled all the space above her, his grin stretching wide. “A truth for a truth, little girl,” he said to her. “Others have tried where you’ve triumphed, calling to me in my rest. But I dismissed them all until you. Would you know why?” Tongue stuck in her mouth, arms shaking, Taeris nodded. “None presented me with the right offering, until you. They offered armor, and weapons, yes, you think like a true soldier’s wife. Food and drink and even fresh blood. But none before thought to offer me a woman.”

“A woman?” Taeris stammered. To all but herself she was still a girl, her hair in simple ribbons, her dress plain; she’d woken bloody the morning of her father’s funeral and decided to just not burden her mother with it, and the thin rations of a siege had restricted her to only two courses inside six months. The General couldn’t mean her. “My sister’s to be wed after the siege lifts, I didn’t ask her—!” 

General Neidar’s massive hands enwrapped her upper arms as he lifted her, from the floor, from her feet, holding her up before him. “I smell a woman, sweet and bold, right before me,” he told her, hunger in his eyes. “I will accept your gift, thoroughly, and then I will save the city.”

“But I’m not, I can’t, I’m not yet even a maiden!” Taeris pushed her little strength against his chest as he pulled her nearer, his muscles hard beneath her hands, her belly wrenching with unexpected fear. She hadn’t even had her Maiden-day, embroidered her maiden dresses and learned the high elaborate hairstyles, graced the city in her turn with her young beauty. Now he wanted her maidenhood before she’d officially had it.

The wall hit her back. Neidar’s chest pressed hers, as he explained, almost kindly, as he held her with one hand and tore her nightshift open with the other, “Who will know but you and me? And I will do my deed and be gone. You will wear your hair in a maiden’s crown and hold your head high for the youths to admire, and only I will know I had your first tup.” He pushed in close, beard scraping her chin, her lips, tickling her nose as he audibly breathed her in. “Come now, little woman. Grant me my offering. Save your city.”

And he set his mouth over hers, beard sparking hot all over her face as his chapped lips parted hers, as his thick flexing tongue plunged into her mouth as a foretaste of his manhood plundering her cunny. She shivered, limp in his hold as he dropped her ruined nightdress and bore her back, to the septacle that could not contain his virile strength, and set her upon her back at the center, and lay atop her like a slab of breathing stone.

“Oh,” Taeris gasped, as Neidar mouthed her like he’d devour her, “oh, oh,” his bearded mouth roving and pressing over her neck and shoulder, engulfing her little breasts one and then then other, presses of hard teeth into her helpless flesh. “Oh!” As his massive hand gripped her hip, the hard breadth of his member denting her thigh. “Oh, great sir!” As she couldn’t know if she’d have him let her go or never cease. 

He stopped, then, but just to lift his head, to lick his lips and grin that gap-toothed grin at her again. “I know your real reason,” he told her, fingers groping her over, gripping her rump, pressing her breast beneath his seamed palm. “The day you brought a basket to the watchmen and the enemy spotted you on the wall. I can hear it in your thoughts, what they said.”

Taeris shuddered, then, all through, between his heavy body and the hard floorboards, the coarse shouts echoing in her memory. _Ho there, little cunt!_ they’d called as she startled. _We’re coming to fuck you in every hole till you split!_ Her soldiers had shouted defiance back as she’d scrambled down, back to the safety behind the walls, and had run the whole way home, breathless with terror and pulsing with curiosity. “You wanted to know,” Neidar rumbled now in her ear, his fingers broad on her inner thigh. “You wanted the soldiers to take you and use you and fill you up, enough to think of opening the gates, to give your city up so they could force you to pleasure. You wanted, and punished yourself for wanting, and called me instead. And I,” as his fingers pressed slow and broad between her thighs, as she quivered all through and her mouth trembled, falling open as she parted around those breaching fingers, “shall show you all you dreamt, but you are a good sturdy girl, I am sure you shall not split.”

This on a wave of hot stretching pain as he jammed two fingers into her, thick and deep, as it felt like she should indeed split open, and she gasped, and choked on a scream. She couldn’t scream, and wake the household, she couldn’t —

“Ah, the sweet rippling silk of you,” Neidar murmured, almost too low to be heard over Taeris’ own pulse thudding in her ears, and, “Go on, scream, my little flower, let me hear your passion.” Biting her lip, Taeris could only turn her eyes to him, and he laughed and kissed her between them, quick and beard-rough, as he pulled his hand back and pushed within her again, as her breath snagged in her throat. “Your scrawl here holds all in,” he told her, speeding his hand, chafing her within as if to stroke heat to flame, her whole body jerking each time his fingers slammed into her. “No one will hear but me.”

Taeris bit her lip harder, with the last of her strength, with a rising heat in her belly, and he laughed again and kissed her again upon her mouth. “My little soldier’s woman,” he said fondly, and flicked his thumb —

Taeris knew her cunny as well as the rest of her. She knew her nub, how sweet it was to stroke herself to a crisis before sleep. But the broad hot swipe of a calloused thumb, and again, over and again as thick fingers breached her, sliding ever smoother, chafing up water rather than fire —

Her whole body hitched and pounded like her heart, her scream echoed off the walls, and Neidar laughed, booming with approval, and her heart warmed and her belly twisted all at once. He pulled his hand free of her, shoving his fingers into his mouth to suck them noisily, and Taeris found her hands clutching his shoulders, nails denting the hard muscles, and felt her face flood with heat to match her chafed-hot cunny. 

Then he sat up, swift and implacable as he moved her like a toy, broad hands on her arm and head pulling her face to his lap. She scrabbled and wobbled on her knees, gasping, struggling towards words, but all she managed was to press her parted lips to his fleshy hard member. He tugged her hair and pushed her head in the same motion, and the head of it popped past her lips, its foreskin peeling back as it surged further, wedging her mouth open with musky solidity.

“One day,” Neidar said, stroking her hair, rubbing her arm as she trembled, “you’ll learn the fine art and pleasure of this, but summer nights are short and I haven’t time to instruct you. Breathe deep, my girl, I must wet my lad here thoroughly.” Those confusing words, a moment’s inhale, and then he made all clear with a mighty shove, and her cry was choked all around the length of him, wedging her mouth open past all possibility of biting, shoving into her throat till she gagged and deeper still, deeper than she could ever have imagined.

Shocked and breathless and nose tickled by raspy hair, Taeris gagged and choked and felt his rounded eggs press up beneath her chin and her throat writhe around the invader within her. Neidar huffed happily, gripped her hair like reins and bounced her face upon him, rubbing in and out of her abraded throat, and she could get no air at all, and her head spun beneath his driving hand.

She struggled, confused and dizzied, and he laughed again and again, booming with pleasure. “My kitten has claws!” He announced, which was how she realized she was trying to scratch his thigh, how pointlessly, like trying to chisel stone with her nails. But as that thought whirled through her dimming, air-starved mind, he pulled her off with a ‘pop’ and threw her upon her back on the floor, where she lay, hauling in water-sweet draughts of cool air.

Then the air warmed to blazing heat, as he leaned over her, suspending himself on his arms. “Oh, sweet little woman,” he puffed, sounding as breathless as she felt. “Had I time I would nestle my mouth between your thighs and drink you down, quenching my thousand years’ drought. One day you and your chosen will make a great pleasure of it, but now…” and his hips spread her thighs apart like a siege engine forcing through a gate, his member pressing slickly so her cunny flared hot and sore and yet itching to be filled. “The night flies.”

And he snapped his hips forward to her, shoving within her, so much more than even his broad fingers, and as he murmured the command she screamed for him, her back drawing up into an arch, her whole body pulled taut around the heavy ache of him within her. He pulled back and slammed into her again, flattening her arse against the floorboards, her cunny stretched searingly, her heart hammering at her breastbone. Again and again as he banged upon her womb and Taeris could all but feel him in back of her throat, her whole body crammed full of his thrusting within her, each knocking up a scream from her sore throat. She couldn’t feel anything but the general rutting her, the sheer overwhelming ache and strain of it, but also the rising sparks, the throbs of pleasure alongside the pain.

And then he rolled his hips, and the angle flicked and bumped her nub, and red fire caught all through her blood, pleasure surging up over pain, both of them entwined and arcing through her whole body. Taeris writhed and arched and screamed, red fire blazing behind her squeezed eyelids, her cunny fluttering all up and down the length of the pistioning member within her, as another crisis took her violently, all her defenses breached.

Neidar growled, deep and pleased, rolling his hips over and again as she writhed through the long hot crisis, until the twining pleasure coiled down to breathless trembling, the wildfire dying down slowly into a glow all through her. “Nicely done,” he told her, “and I would stay snugged in this valiant little quim, but,” and he jerked his hips back, and Taeris gasped, past words at the strange tug, as her cunny seemingly clung to his member, “we can’t have you fall with child to a ghost.” He tugged fully from her and rolled her over, and she fell to her front, stunned and limp. A moment, two, while she tried to get her knees beneath her, to get herself up and at least see what he meant to do to her next, and then she remembered. _All your holes._

“No,” Taeris breathed, pushing her shaking arms beneath her.

“Yes,” Neidar murmured, his broad hand on her arse, cupping one cheek, pushing it wide.

“But, it won’t, it oh! Oh!” Before she could even protest, Neidar pushed against the tight secret furl of her arsehole, and there was no possibility he could gain entrance there, not without splitting her open indeed, and Taeris shuddered where she lay.

“Breathe,” Neidar crooned, low enough to feel his voice vibrate across her back, his raspy hand stroking down her spine. “You can do this.” As he pushed, steadily, evenly, as she began to feel her arsehole easing, unfurling beneath the hot solid push, beneath his will. “Let me in, my little woman. Let me in.”

And Taeris breathed, and trembled, and the head of his member popped into her, and she squeaked.

“There we are.” Neidar gathered her up with a thick arm across her belly and ribs, broad hand pressing over her breast so her sore nipple sparked against his palm. “Up we go,” as he pulled her up, seating her on his member. Her own weight pushed her down, a bar of iron and fire into her guts, and she banged her head back against his chest and clawed at his arm and groped up to grip his beard, writhing in the sensation.

Neidar rumbled and laughed and stroked down over her belly, pushing two fingers over her throbbing nub, down and in and up within her, pressing against his own member through her flesh, and Taeris was so full, so overwhelmingly full of the general as he thrust up, tupping her fore and aft as she couldn’t stop screaming. Her breasts bounced, whisked by the indifferent air, he pressed the heel of his hand over her nub and drove over and over again into her arse, and her arsehole clutched and burned around him as all her mind melted into heat and glorious agony.

Neidar bounced her and rubbed her and another crisis took her, shot through with pain like red lightning through a pink cloud, and he groaned long and loud behind her, into her, and a warm gush flooded into her, suddenly slicking his pounding. Still, he kept at her for a long, jostling minute, before tipping forwards, letting her drop upon the floor, leaning on his arms over her, sweat pattering on her back like hot rain, her body still twitching around his member within her.

At length he drew himself out, and out, and finally out. At length Taeris tried to collect her panting, whimpering, sprawled body, and could not even move.

Neidar patted her arse, and boomed his laugh, and gathered her up in his broad arms. “Well done, my maiden,” he told her, and brushed his beard-fringed lips across hers once more, as she swooned entirely.

It seemed just a moment until she woke in her own bed, sore from her cracked lips and aching throat to her scraped inner thighs, naked and wrapped in the dark sheet, her door shaking beneath a thumping fist. “Taeris!” Mother called, sounding brighter, more alive than she had since the day they last dressed Father and Aelin for battle. “Taeris, wake to our deliverance! Wake to a miracle!”

Taeris’s chest swelled beneath her aching breasts, as she pushed herself up on shaking arms, trying to hurry, to see if she’d been granted her impossible wish.

Indeed she had. All around Neidarcivita’s walls, every besieging soldier lay dead of the very same wound, doubly pierced through the heart. The citizens rejoiced, opened their gates, flooded out to loot their vanquished enemies and burn offerings of thanks to their founder and their gods, and Taeris hobbled out among them, pretending she didn’t hurt all through. She sang in the celebrations with a secret beneath her clothes, crawled up to the attic at midnight to clear away all evidence of her summoning, lay in bed that night sucking her fingers where the broken crockery had cut her, and judged her sacrifice worth it. And so Taeris thought she had won and was done, till the day after next when her mother asked her, “Have you seen your father and brother’s swords?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Male foreigner in a society where public use is normalized/The Locals"

Rapunzel giggled, somewhat muffled by Mother’s petal between her lips. Mother had climbed up to grab the headboard and ride her face shortly after the general began fucking the girl’s bottom, telling the rest of the story somewhat breathlessly, but Rapunzel didn’t mind. She rather enjoyed this task, losing herself in soft folds of redolent flesh, sucking and licking and wondering as she mouthed her Mother’s tender bits what she saw long ago when she first emerged between them. 

Still, she was curious, so she patted Mother’s thigh. This time Mother let her up, looking curiously down at her, and Rapunzel wiped her wet face and asked, “What did she tell her?”

“What, dear?” Mother asked, seeming to have forgotten again; when Rapunzel repeated herself, she suddenly frowned, and grabbed a fold of the sheet. “That’s the story’s end,” she said curtly as she scrubbed Rapunzel’s face, cheeks and chin and nose and between the eyes. “That’s all there is. I even gave it a happy ending as a treat for you.”

“But,” Rapunzel persisted, curiosity unbearable, “how did Taeris —“

“You’re still Not Listening,” Mother snapped, flinging herself down beside Rapunzel, who flinched into silence. “How could I ever let you go out into the world when you won’t listen? I must tell you — no, shh,” with her long fingers across Rapunzel’s mouth, “No, Listen.” And so Mother began the third story.

Stostoryry 

Sintha groaned as he dashed down the boulevard, glancing into every alley and shopfront. Of all the tourists from the Seven Seaward Kingdoms, the Nacirema were the _worst_ , headstrong and self important and hard-eared. Sintha had groaned when he’d been assigned Ser Reean, groaned at every instance since when his advice had been disregarded, groaned when Ser Reean verged off the paths, trampled people’s gardens, broke fruit from trees, and once even slapped a veiled girl’s rump, laughing too hard to mark the warning in her narrowed eyes. Ser Reean was a tall, broad-shouldered avatar of obnoxiousness that almost, almost made Sintha reconsider his entire career of diplomacy, or at least his current position of tour guide.

A magistrate’s whistle stopped Sintha’s hurrying and thoughts both, his heart pounding as he turned and stood, waiting for the figure in official black to reach him. As she did she drew from her pocket not her baton but her ledger, which eased his alarm somewhat. “Per Sintha,” she addressed him, “You are the assigned guide to Ser Reean Theohk of the Nacireman Union, are you not?”

“I am, Honored Justice,” he replied as politely as he might. The magistrate nodded, marking her ledger with her inked thumbnail, and gestured to him as she turned and trotted off. So of course he followed, and if he stretched his ear he could just hear her Enforcers trotting behind him, silent doom for the disobedient.

She led him, unsurprisingly, to the Plaza of Restitution, where two more Enforcers stood with a senior Magistrate and the naked, quivering Ser Reean. Fortunately they had already gagged him, silver spider-leg struts curling across his cheeks and chin, and Sintha privately delighted in being spared any more of Reean’s inane babble as he swept into a low bow to the assemblage. 

“Per Sintha,” asked the senior Magistrate, inclining his silver-haired head, “I seek your recommendation. Men’s stocks, or women’s?” Reean’s eyes rolled at the question, his voice bleating through the gag’s ring, as he actually rocked his hips forward till his phallus flopped ostentatiously. 

Sintha, being well trained, did not laugh at this display of misunderstanding and foolishness; instead he considered, stroking his fine wisp of beard as impressively as he might, and offered, “I believe it’s a fast day for the ladies, your Eminent Evaluance. Men’s stocks, I recommend.”

The Magistrate nodded his august head, a twinkle in his eye, and Sintha felt a little glow of pride in succeeding here, at least. The Enforcers hustled Reean over to the nearest set of men’s stocks, pushed him down and fitted his head and hands into it. 

The magistrate nodded again, so Sintha crossed to stand before his erstwhile client. “Ser Reean,” he said gently, watching curled fists clench tighter as water-tinted eyes rolled up to regard him, “I did warn you we don’t waste imprisonment on petty crimes. I will return for you in the morning.”

Reean merely tossed his head like an unbroken colt, and Sintha stepped away to the side, where he could watch both Reean’s face and the Enforcers’ work as they strapped his knees in place, either side of the offertory channel, tested the bonds for safety, then turned beseeching looks to the Magistrate. Obviously amused, the Magistrate nodded to them, and Sintha watched them confer, watched one release his phallus and Reean’s eyes bulge as the Enforcer spread his nether cheeks and efficiently slicked him before pushing into him. The gargling noise he made upon penetration soothed Sintha’s jangled nerves, and he watched until the other Enforcer lifted her foot to press it upon the stocks’ top as she pressed her nethers to Reean’s face. It was a much more difficult angle than it would’ve been in the women’s stocks, but she seemed to enjoy it well enough, and Sintha turned away to climb the Judgement Hall steps, heading to collect Ser Reean’s clothes and effects, to file his evening’s report, and to turn in restfully early before tomorrow’s work.

The next morning, Sintha returned with a litter and two sturdy, oiled bearers, to collect his charge. The sky flaring from pink to gold framed the wreck of Ser Reean quite nicely, and for several moments Sintha merely paced slowly around him, taking in the spectacle.

Reean hung in his bonds, head tipped sideways and down, red-bruised bottom lip outthrust with swelling, the gsg’s shiny silver dappled with white drips of seed. More oozed down Reean’s chin into the offertory channel below him, which brimmed with spendings; clearly, Sintha’s fellow citizens had found the brash tourist an intriguing divertissement to sample. Reean’s back sagged in an inverted arch, spattered and splashed with more seed, and Sintha might have laughed at how many chose to paint him with spendings rather than fill the offertory channel.

Instead he stepped further, to regard Reean from the back, the pink-streaked seed running down the abraded red of his thick thighs, the purple handholds impressed into his hips, the limp arches of his broad feet, and finally, the battered masterpiece of Reean’s well used bottom. 

Sintha’s fellow citizens had indeed thoroughly appreciated their penitent prisoner, leaving him gaping open a fair thumbs-width, the rim flushed a deep sore red, long drizzles of white seed setting off the bruised colors all the more starkly. Below all this even Reean’s pouch and phallus dangled exhaustedly, purple and pink from countless squeezes and strokes.

What a trammeled masterpiece of fucking. Sintha was forbidden to engage in pleasure with his clients, but he throbbed beneath his robes to plunge into that well-slicked channel and add his spurts of seed to Reean’s dousing. Hand trembling with temptation, he dared the briefest touch to that taut hot rim and felt Reean’s whole body twitch from one fingertip’s slide across that slick battered flesh.

A sigh made Sintha snatch his hand back as he looked up; its source was the younger bearer, looking beseechingly at him. He nodded like yesterday’s high Magistrate, and skipped back out of the way, careful not to stumble into the well-filled offertory channel, as the bearer surged forward, eagerly loosing his breechclout. He entered Ser Reean’s hole with an eager shove and a loud squelch, and the elder bearer snorted amusement, folding his arms as they waited. Sintha grinned in answer and watched Reean’s head loll senselessly through this last tribute, a few small sounds drooling from his mouth along with more seed.

The younger bearer finished up with a much happier sigh, his tribute pattering into the offertory channel, which sloshed all through, almost brimful. As Ser Reean’s sentence was now justly done, Sintha stepped forward to unbuckle the gag, slippery under his fingers, and hook it on its place at the stocks’ edge, before his bearers pried the senseless Reean from the stocks, laid him belly-down on the litter, and draped the blanket over all.

Then they lifted him to follow Sintha back to the lodgings, and Sintha walked in cheer, enjoying the quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men and horses and triple penetration, oh my!

_Perhaps he oughtn’t to be a tour guide,_ Rapunzel thought, but then she didn’t know what else Sintha might do for work, and after all …

… Mother was looking at her with hot eyes. Mother’s voice was low and thick as she growled, “Hands up.”

“But I didn’t —“ Rapunzel hadn’t even said her thought, hadn’t done anything wrong, but Mother already had her wrists in an iron grip, dragging them up to her hair. Rapunzel went limp, closing her eyes to Mother’s soft breast dragging across her face as Mother wound her hands into her hair, binding her down. This was not going to be good.

“I can see what you’re thinking,” Mother said, twisting Rapunzel’s hair around her wrist as Rapunzel’s tummy twisted within her. “What if despite all my warnings, all my wisdom, all the risks I take for you,” as Rapunzel shook her head as fiercely as she could, gone mute with terror, and Mother stared straight at her and didn’t see her and kept on, “you sneak out one night, out wandering in the woods, looking for the first friendly face.”

“But,” Rapunzel coughed up, before a movement caught her eye, a nightstand drawer opening by itself. The third drawer down. Oh, no, oh, _no…_

“And you stumble across men in the woods,” Mother continued unstoppably, as her favorite toys pulled themselves up into the air, the first and second and the longest third, long and sleek and polished ivory, and Rapunzel couldn’t stop shaking. “And they see you, little and pretty and alone, and of course they set upon you, hard hands and sharp teeth.” Rapunzel’s lips parted, to plead, to scream, and the first toy pushed them asunder, shoving between her teeth and across her palate, nudging her throat so she coughed against it. 

All she could do was make a muffled, gagged noise, and Mother’s eyes glittered as she went on relentlessly. “They’d take you two at a time,” as the second toy dragged between Rapunzel’s thighs, swiping across her entrance, pushing into her arse, that strange heavy fullness. “Fore and aft between them, your arms and legs dangling as they held you off the ground with the force of it, spitting you like a roast. And they wouldn’t let up, over and over, until every one of them was satisfied.” Both toys slid back and forth in time and Rapunzel squirmed, spitted indeed, already overfull. She couldn’t breathe, her nose swelling shut as her eyes burned with burgeoning tears, but she could still hear over the roar of her heartbeat. Mother ranting onwards, every word.

“And when the men were done with you, they wouldn’t let you go, not yet.” Mother’s thighs wedged Rapunzel’s wider apart, and there was the third toy, nudging and pressing, demanding entrance. “Not when their eager stallions needed release.” Huffing, Mother thrust it in, connecting their bodies, and it was so wide and heavy it burned all the way in, and Rapunzel arched and screamed and screamed.

Mother’s hands clutched her waist, Mother’s hips slammed into hers, Mother’s voice filled her ears more bursting-full than any other bit of her. “They’d share you with their horses,” she puffed with each shove, “so immensely endowed, piercing you deeper than you could ever imagine, bulging up the tender skin of your belly with every thrust, so deep, so full, you’d feel them driving again and again into your tender young flesh…” Mother’s voice fell away, but Rapunzel’s own sobs rattled through her head, muffled yet noisy around the toy in her mouth as all three toys plunged into her in battering unison.

Mother screamed, deep and vibrating below Rapunzel’s whimpers, and her hand slid over Rapunzel’s aching belly and between her throbbing legs, and Rapunzel could do nothing but scream and thrash as Mother stroked her bursting berry, lightning-shocks racking her from her core to every finger’s tip, from her hair’s roots to the soles of her feet.

The whole world shattered and dissolved and went out, and only very slowly returned, as one by one the toys tugged and slid from her body, as she came back to herself sobbing desperately from the very base of her lungs, as Mother’s warm arms wrapped around her and Mother hummed and murmured lullabies over her head and rocked her as she cried.

Eventually Rapunzel wept herself dry, as Mother rocked and petted her and soothed her down to wrung-out calm. “You finally listened,” Mother crooned to her, “You finally heard. You’ll stay here safe with me. You did well, you did well. Sleep now, sleep, you’ve earned a rest.”

And Rapunzel let her sore eyes stay shut, and listened to Mother, and obeyed.

— coda — 

The next morning Rapunzel lay sniffling in her own bed, her hair wrapped warmly around her. She’d woken so sick and aching, as battered as any victim in Mother’s stories, unhooked herself and stumbled to her own room. There she wound herself in her hair and quietly sang the song, raising its healing glow, but still, she felt sick to her stomach, her heart still bruised.

Mother had, of course, woken cheerful, had kissed Rapunzel’s forehead and bid her good morning, and now moved briskly about their home. But Rapunzel lay abed, unable to rise, unwilling to force herself to cheer.

She was certain, paradoxically, irrationally, down deep below all Mother had taught her, that the world could not all be so cruel and harsh. Fists tightening in and around her hair, Rapunzel repeated to herself that one day she’d leave this tower, see the lights on her birthday, meet other people, see the world and survive it. She knew she would.

A soft thump interrupted her thoughts, and she sat up, looking towards her open window and the tree rustling there. Something green moved on the floor, unlike a leaf in the breeze, and as Rapunzel pushed her hair aside to get up and go to it, it rolled, waving four little limbs, opening one bright eye to look straight at her, then the other. A baby chameleon, fallen to her care. Perhaps, a friend.


End file.
